


Reunion

by inkypaws



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love, Reunion Sex, Sexual Content, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkypaws/pseuds/inkypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after they parted ways Clara and The Doctor are finally reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> \- my first attempt at smut, woo! All opinions are appreciated. If you don't ship whouffaldi, this isn't for you. Thanks for reading! -

(word count; 4556)

Clara Oswald watched with relief as Coal Hill School closed its gates for the last time that week. It had been an exhausting few months preparing the kids for their exams, and then preparing herself for the parents evening that followed _._ Her whole class, except Courtney Woods, had failed. And not just ‘sort of failed’, thirty of her students had completely and utterly bombed it.

The students blamed Clara. The parents blamed Clara. The head teacher blamed Clara. Hell, even Clara blamed Clara. And the worst part wasn’t seeing the kids’ faces when a big fat fail was there to greet them – it probably should have been, but it wasn’t, not for her. Even knowing she’d lost control of her entire schedule, her entire life, wasn’t the worst part.

No. The worst part was that no matter what Danny said, or what Danny did, it made no difference; because the one man who promised to be there for her, to  _always_ be there for her, wasn’t around anymore.

And really, she’d known. From the moment she picked Danny;  _he,_ her impossible hero, wasn’t coming back. She’d seen it in his eyes when he watched her leave, she heard it in his voice when he promised he’d come for dinner, but never did and she felt it in his touch when she hugged him that last time. He might have stiffened and tried to look like he didn’t care, but his hearts always gave him away. They’d crashed against her chest that day, beating out a rhythm that seemed to say ‘please, please stay.’

Clara reasoned that she deserved the torment she was suffering now, and had been suffering since her Doctor vanished. She’d chosen a safe, planned future with Danny because back then the idea of not knowing terrified her. Now, she was a changed woman. She knew what her future held; she’d seen it and now the days blurred into one. It didn’t matter what she did – her future was set. Stuck here with Danny, the boy too good for her sullied self.

“Clara?” A hand wrapped itself around her shoulder. It was Danny; she knew by the way he said her name. He was the only one who didn’t blame her for how she was acting, he was the only one who could speak to her without making a snide comment about her absence from work, or her crazy ramblings about trains in the sky.

“Hm?”

“You did good,” he said, holding her just that bit tighter.  “I’m proud of you.”

“All my students failed,” she said. “Good is hardly the right word.”

“Courtney passed,” he chuckled, “and that’s a miracle all by itself.”

Clara looked up at her soldier man and cocked her head. “Of course Courtney passed, she’s going to be prime m-“Clara stopped herself mid-sentence, the small smile that had formed vanishing. She was surprised at how easily she could slip back into the impossible when she thought of The Doctor. It only made her feel worse. “She’s going to go far.”

Neither said anything for a while. They were the last two teachers in the school car park and the silence was nice, even if it was just for a moment. Clara contemplated looking up at the sky, she was sure it’d look beautiful, but seeing the stars only made things harder.

“Do you still miss him?”

Clara couldn’t stop her wince. “Danny,” she said slowly, “can we not?”

“Okay…okay. It just makes me think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Instantly Clara felt her defences go up. What was  _that_ supposed to mean? She shrugged out of Danny’s hold and stepped back. “You think I’m lying to you?”

“Clara,” Danny reached out for her but she moved back. “Clara that’s not what I meant.”

“Well that’s what it sounded like,” her voice had gone up an octave. “Because you know Danny, you know better than anyone I haven’t seen that… that stupid man and his stupid bluebox in  _six months!”_

Danny’s patience ran out then. “Well sorry for being concerned!”

Well done Clara, she thought, you’ve made the worlds gentlest man lose his cool – again. She opened her mouth to say something, probably something snide and underhanded as she so often did nowadays, but she stopped herself. Danny didn’t deserve her like this, not when she felt so volatile. Clara took a deep breath, gave Danny her best smile and then hugged him.

“I picked you, idiot,” she said, the lie tasting like bile on her tongue.

And like every other time Danny fell for it. He kissed her goodnight, told her he was sorry for being so insensitive and that he loved her. Then he walked her back to her car and watched her pull away. He didn’t notice that she never loved him back.

~*~*~*~

Clara was watching something about monkeys. Or was it Dolphins? Maybe it was even about people – she didn’t know, she never knew. It was just noise and pictures. After leaving Danny is the car park, she’d got home, changed into her pyjamas and attempted to cook a pizza. It was only now she noticed that her shirt was on back to front and that she could smell burning from the oven.

“Oh, crap!” Clara jumped up from the sofa and hurried into the kitchen, nearly burning her fingers as she pulled out the blackened ham and pineapple dinner. It was a stupid thing to get upset over, but the sight of the burnt pizza just pushed her to the edge. She couldn’t even  _cook_ right anymore.

It wasn’t long after that she decided she’d go to bed. Who cares if it was 8:30 on a Friday night?

Clara made it three steps down her hallway when there was a knock at the door. She frowned; she hadn’t invited anyone over, had she? Not thinking much of it, she walked to the front door and pulled it open. “Hell-“

The words, they stopped in her throat, chocking her into absolute silence.  It was  _him._ Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her because it was him; her crazy, beautiful,  _bad,_ Doctor. The man made of limbs and eyebrows. He was wearing that jumper with the holes in it. She never said but it was her favourite outfit of his; it made him look human-ish. And he had his blazer on, the one with the red lining that occasionally showed itself. She loved that too.

For a few seconds, Clara couldn’t think past the overwhelming sense of relief she felt when she saw him. But it didn’t take long before her thoughts were gathered, and all the loneliness of the past months, the waiting and wondering, all the extra dinners she cooked  _just in case,_ came flooding back with perfect clarity.

“Clara-“he started to say. His tone was light hearted, like a friend popping round for tea.

She shut him up with a slap; a good one, right across his stupid face. “Don’t,” she warned him. “Don’t you  _dare._ ” 

The Doctor rubbed his cheek, but his eyes never left hers. Clara couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers moved across his skin. “What was that for?” he said, daring to actually sound shocked.

“ _What was that for?”_ Clara hissed, her joy at seeing him quickly dissipating into seething, unhampered rage. “What was that for?!”

“Clara, calm down,” The Doctor looked left and right down the hall outside her flat. “You’ll disturb someone with all your… mouth noise. “

Oh, she wanted to punch him. Scream at him. Slam the door in his face. Anything to even give him an idea at how hurt and confused, and scared and relived she felt right now. But she didn’t do any of that, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, so instead her eyes filled up with tears and she gave him such a look that he took a step back. “No,” she said, “no you don’t get to do this. Do you understand me?  _You,_ don’t get to walk back into my life after six months – six agonising months – and act like… like everything is okay.  _You_ do not get to do that, okay? Because it’s not fair, Doctor. It’s not fair! Time might be some big joke to you, but for some us it’s real and tangible and  _slow._ And some of us have to live every single day. So if you’ve come here thinking that I’ll follow you into your stupid TARDIS and forgive you, then you’re wrong. So very wrong.”

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel better after her speech. It wasn’t even half of what she felt, but it was a start. Honestly, she didn’t know what reaction she would get but she if she was given a thousand guesses, not one of them would have been what happened next. In the blink of an eye The Doctors demeanour changed; the softness in his eyes and the lax smile he wore vanished, replaced by a cold-eye stare and a tight-lipped grimace.

The Doctor stepped toward her, leaving only inches between them. “Clara, you are so  _very_ wrong if you think our time apart hasn't passed slowly for me.” A brief pause, “look at me. Then tell me again that I’m here for a joke.”

She saw it then. His face hadn’t changed, not obviously anyway, but she could see beyond the obvious. Bags were forming under his eyes, she guessed at lack of sleep. His breathing was hitched, catching every time they locked eyes. Maybe his cheeks were hollower, the lines to his face more obvious – she wasn’t sure. His hands were bunched so tightly all his knuckles had turned white. But it was his eyes that told the most obvious truth of all. They were  _burning._ Not with hate or anger, but with desperation, with need.

Clara swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “Do you want to take this inside?”

The Doctor brushed passed her as he walked into her home. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

~*~*~*~

The Doctors accusation came first. “How’s P.E? Still happy with the never-ending dullness? You must be,” he picked up a bottle of men’s aftershave from the coffee table in her living room and sniffed it before pulling a face and putting it back. “You’re still with him.”

“I love him.” Clara hadn’t meant to say that, not really, but the more she said it, the more she thought she could convince herself it was true.

The Doctor flinched at her words. “So you keep saying.”

Her defences hadn’t dropped. “I keep saying it, because I mean it.”

This time, he rounded on her. He was  _so_ tall that she felt his shadow completely encase her. “Clara, Clara, Clara,” he clucked, “Lying is a  _filthy_ habit.”

His voice was scathing and somehow she felt like that sentence had many different meanings, all of which would leave her pleading for his forgiveness in one-way or another.  “Well if you want to talk about lying,” she shot back, getting to her feet – not that it made much difference, he still towered over her, “how about you and your empty promises to come back and see me? You forgot to mention all those months ago that goodbye meant goodbye to you.”

“Would it have made a difference?” he said, speaking through gritted teeth. Now  _that_ was a loaded question and one she  _really_ didn’t want to answer, but he was pushing her. “Come now, Clara, don’t be coy with me. Answer the question – would it have made a difference?” She pressed her lips tighter together, refusing to speak. “I thought so,” he said eventually. “You see; I knew you’d always pick him. Pick P.E over me. I knew you’d be so  _basic_ about the whole thing and pick the safe choice. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Then why are you even here?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted it. She hadn’t meant it that way.

The Doctor looked at her, his eyebrows raising right up into his hairline but it wouldn’t have mattered, all the dramatic face pulling in the world couldn’t have hidden how deep her sentence cut him.  “I see,” he said.

Watching him turn to leave did things to Clara. It made her panic. She couldn’t lose him again so soon after getting him back. She couldn’t stand another day without him in her life. It spurred her on to do something she never thought she’d do – she confessed.

“It would have made a difference,” she said, unable to stop the words tripping over each other as they spilled form her lips. “Of course, it would have made a difference. I thought that my life was here, with Danny. I didn’t think you cared what I did or didn’t do, but I knew Danny did and… and that was something. Maybe it’s small to you, but to me it wasn’t, it still isn’t. You were so… I don’t know, dramatic and self-assured and otherworldly.  You were saving worlds and I was just trying to survive in mine. Danny kept me grounded and safe; how could I know that you weren’t going to run off and leave me?” She sighed and dropped her eyes to her feet. “Danny made me feel like I was important. Like he missed me when I wasn’t there. I always felt that way about you, but I could never bank on how you felt about me.”

The Doctor turned on the spot to look at her. Just the way he stood, the way he held himself gracefully even when he wasn’t in motion, was enough to make her want to jump into his arms – into his bed. “I was always clear,” he said, taking a long stride toward her, “but allow me to clarify.” And Clara saw it. The restraint he was so careful to put in place had just snapped and fallen away.

A beat of silence and then… the impossible.

The Doctor came at her, capturing her shocked gasp in a kiss so intense it sent her head spinning. He tasted like whiskey and stardust; a combination so intoxicating Clara instantly relaxed into his rhythm, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her mouth. A hand went around her waist and she was vaguely aware that he was moving her backwards towards the bookshelf. She waited for the collision, but found his other hand resting on the back of her head, cushioning the impact of their bodies against the wood.

The Doctor kept up the kiss and Clara wondered if Timelords ever needed to break for air. She didn’t care. Her hands found his waist; she slipped her fingers under the material of his blazer and started to gently thumb his sides. The sensations made The Doctor take a sharp inhale, momentarily breaking the kiss. Clara took this opportunity to gulp down some air and try, unsuccessfully, to give her thoughts some semblance.

“You’ve been teasing me, haven’t you.” The Doctors voice was low and coming from somewhere deeper than his throat. It wasn’t a question. Hell, it didn’t even sound like a statement, it rolled off his tongue like an accusation and God knew Clara was guilty. "Pushing me to the edge." 

Christ, he was  _so_ much taller than her. There was electricity between them, a scalding heat that felt like it was burning through her clothes and leaving her exposed for his hungry eyes. But she wanted this, whatever this was, just as much as he did.  “And what if I was?” she said, loving the idea that she was the one reducing him from a being with so much control he wouldn’t even hug her, to the ravenous and desperate creature before her.

“Oh Clara, Clara, Clara,” the Scottish lilt to his voice made her name sound like scripture. “You’re not  _good_ at all, are you?” 

And then the time for talking was over.

Clara’s hands found his chest again and,  _very_ aware that he was watching her, she moved her hands up until she’d pushed his blazer off his shoulders. The Doctor widened the gap between them as he shrugged the blazer down his arms and off until it was a heap on the floor. As soon as the material was gone, Clara reached out and grabbed his jumper, her fingers going through the holes. She pulled him back against her – she wasn’t taking any chances this time. He wasn’t going to clam up on her now.

Their bodies made contact again and this time The Doctors arousal was evident, she could feel it pressing her as he pinned her against the bookshelf with a torrent of kisses and touches. His lips started on her mouth, slow and teasing, until he elicited a sigh from her.  He found the pulse point on her neck, leaving kisses there that spread through her with the heat of a solar flare. She was trying so hard to keep quiet; to keep some kind of control over the situation, but The Doctor was a master at finding pleasure points and exploiting them. And when she felt his hands tease the bottom of her cotton shirt, and then his cool, long fingers begin to travel up the flat of her stomach - she knew she didn’t stand a chance.

“My Clara,” he murmured, as he peppered kisses along her collarbone. 

She tried to say something, but instead a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan was her only response. Quickly growing tired of losing the upper hand, Clara let go of his jumper, reached up and took a fist full of his thick, silver hair – she’d  _always_ dreamt about that – knotting it between her fingers and holding it there.  “Look at me,” she breathed, and when his response wasn’t immediate because he was too busy working on taking her top off, she pulled at his hair, forcing his head to come up. “Look,” she repeated.

They locked eyes and she could’ve sworn it was electric. This, whatever this was between them, was far deeper than love.  _This_ was yearning.  _This_ was loss.  _This_ was what it felt like when two people who really shouldn’t be together were bound by forces even the universe couldn’t comprehend. 

Feeling this crazy rush of power overwhelm her, Clara used her free hand to reach down and touch the ridge in his trousers – but much to her amazement, she didn’t even get that far. The heat from her palm had The Doctor bucking toward her before she’d even touched him – his eyes were wide with awe and not once did they leave hers. Clara learnt then that The Doctor was  _very_  good at taking instructions if he was given the right incentive.

And then when she did touch him the sound that erupted from his lips was enough to make her knees shake. The mighty Timelord, the man who was so restrained with his hearts, was mewling and moaning under her hand. Clara felt like a queen – completely in control and completely comfortable with what was going on for the first time in months.

“Are you-“he was panting between words, “ _trying_ to drive me mad?” Clara said nothing, but the wicked glint in her eye was obvious. The Doctor saw it - she was  _enjoying_ this as much as he was.  He was done playing – he’d waited for this, dreamt of it, since the moment he laid eyes on her. His previous incarnation had a schoolboy crush on her, but things changed and what this Doctor wanted to do to Clara was  _far_ from schoolboy.

The Doctors hands found the swell of her breasts and as his fingers grazed them he was rewarded by the sound of Clara’s breath catching in her throat and her fingers finally coming lose from his hair. When he was free, he dipped his head and through the thin blue cotton – TARDIS blue, he noticed - of her shirt he pressed his lips against one of her nipples taught against the material.

Clara wasn’t sure if it was the sensation of his hot mouth on her chest, or the pressure of his arousal brushing her thighs, or if it was even just the sight of his usually dapper self looking so frazzled, but the knot in her stomach tightened and threatened to cripple her if she didn’t find release soon. Her voice sounded different – desperate. “Doctor?”

Like that was the signal he’d been waiting for, his hands quickly found the hem of her shorts and pulled them down. She didn’t even see him do the same to himself. One moment they were apart and then, all of a sudden, they were one. The Doctor made a throaty growl as the sensation of Clara nearly made him fall apart there and then. At first he didn’t move, couldn’t move, like his body was so overloaded that he shut down.

Clara, sensing there was a problem, took his head in her hands and once again forced him to look at her. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal. ”Together.”

The Doctor said nothing, but Clara wasn’t sure he needed to. His pupils had dilated to the size of swirling blue saucers and, after dragging his eyes over her body in a deliberate motion; he couldn’t help but wet his lips. Putting his hands on the wall either side of her for support, he began to move.

He moved slowly and with a purpose, savouring each and every tremble Clara’s heightened body gave to him. The ball of pleasure that had grown deep inside him was pulsating now and he very nearly sped up… but then he looked at Clara. Her breathing was so heavy, her chest was heaving, her lips were swollen and red from where she’d bit down on them and her nails dug deep into his shoulders. Seeing her so vulnerable convinced The Doctor to remain at the pace he was at. Maybe this would be her payback for the months of hell their separation caused him.

Clara was writhing against him. She couldn’t help it, but he was exacting torture on her. Painful, pleasurable torture so great that if she hadn’t have had her face buried into his jumper, she would have been screaming without restraint. She tried many a time to buck her hips toward him, but he had her pinned and he remained in control delivering deliciously deep and controlled motions.

“Doctor,” she moaned into his chest. It sounded like a plea. She knew it and he  _definitely_ knew it. 

“Say it,” he replied, the timbre of his voice shaking her to the core. She knew what he wanted, but Clara pressed her lips together. The Doctor undulated against her as he spoke, hitting her sweet spot every single time. “ _Say it,”_ he repeated, this time whispering into her ear. 

“Doct-“

“ _Say it!”_

“Please!” she cried, the beg tearing from her like a confession. She couldn’t take anymore; she felt like any moment now she was going to come part at the seams.  The Doctor obliged, clearly hearing the plea in her voice. Leaving only one hand against the wall, he used the other to hitch her left leg around his waist. This new angle gave way to all new kinds of pleasure, more so than the Timelord was expecting, and all too quickly he found himself coming undone.

The groans The Doctor was eliciting did it for Clara. She’d never heard anything so raw, so torn, and so  _honest._ Knowing she had done this to him sent her over the edge, cascading into the abyss. Someone cried out, it could have been her, it could have been him – it didn’t matter.

Her name started to claw its way out of his throat, but Clara was quick and she captured his cry with a kiss, sharing his moment of satisfaction with him. The Doctor shuddered and slumped forward, his lips slipping from hers. Clara realised she was still holding onto him, but she needed to – she daren’t let go for fear her knees would give way and she’d sink to the floor. Instead she clung to him like he was the last person in the world, like he was her life support. 

Neither was sure how long they remained there, but too soon The Doctor straightened himself up and the warmth of his body against hers dissipated. They got partially dressed without speaking or looking at each other. What was she supposed to say now? ‘Can we go again? So I guess I just  _cheated_ on my boyfriend with you Doctor, isn’t that funny? Well that was fun, now are you leaving?’ Somehow no words felt right. And she knew that she should feel guilty for doing this to Danny, but instead she felt guilty for not really caring how Danny would take this.

“Clara,” The Doctor spoke softly. “I don’t-“

She turned to look at him, finding it hard not to smile at the shoddy way he’d redressed or the way his hair was sticking up in all kinds of places. “Can we not?” she cut in, her voice equally as gentle. She sat on her sofa and patted the seat beside her. “Sit with me, and we can talk about it in the morning.”

The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows. “Domestic? Me?”

She smiled. “Yes, you. Now do as you’re told and sit with me.” He didn’t argue and before long he’d relaxed into the settee, even putting his feet up on the coffee table. Clara was cautious about snuggling up next to him, after all he wasn’t a ‘hugging’ person, but she was surprised when his arm curled around her and held her against his chest.

“Clara,” he said, rubbing his thumb on her arm.

“Morning,” she mumbled. She wasn’t tired, not really, but the tone in his voice told her where this conversation was going and she wasn’t ready it for… not after doing what they’d just done.

“It can’t wait until the morning, you know that.”

Clara held him tighter. He was going to say it no matter what she did, and it was always going to end the same way. “Please don’t,” she said.

The Doctor lingered and for a moment she thought she’d got through to him, but it didn’t last and she felt him take a deep breath. “You wont come with me,” he said – again, this wasn’t a question, it was a cold, hard fact – “but you’re not happy here.” He sighed again, “it’s like that thing you do with your face. You smile, but it’s a sad smile. Two emotions at once. Malfunctioning.”  He ran a hand across his forehead, “if only you knew what that did to me, Clara Oswald.”

Clara hadn’t realised her eyes were watering until she felt the dampness of his jumper under her cheek. She knew he had to go off and save the world, she knew that he couldn’t stay here with her and live out a human life, but she could always dream. And maybe she did want to go with him; maybe he was the right choice for her… but not now. Clara wanted to be sure, needed to be sure, that her life here with Danny was the worst choice because if she set foot in that TARDIS again she’d never look back.

“Come back,” she said, looking up at him. “Not tomorrow, or even next week, but come back.”

“Why? So I can leave alone again?”

“I’m capable of changing my mind.”

He scoffed. It was bitter. “No you’re not.”

“Then prove me wrong,” she insisted. “Come back and ask me again to travel with you.”

“Clara…” he sounded pained. She had no idea how hard it was for him to leave her, or how much harder it got each time around.

“Please Doctor,” she repeated. “What just happened was…” words failed her. It was immense, powerful, ethereal. “I know you’ll be gone in the morning, and that’s okay, just tell me I’ll see you again and I might sleep easier.”

The Doctor groaned – he couldn’t say no to her. “I couldn’t _not_ come back,” he said, “but I do have one condition.” He looked down at Clara, _his_ Impossible girl and he knew then that that was it for him – at least, this version of him. There wouldn’t be another quite like Clara – the first face, his face saw would remain the closest to his hearts. The Doctor smiled, a rare thing. “We get to do _that,”_ he gestured to the bookshelf, “again.”

Clara smiled too – she was happy. For the first time in months she was happy and felt like she could face tomorrow. Knowing this would be the last time she got to see him for awhile, Clara curled as close to his side as possible and savoured the comfort.

That night she fell asleep to the rhythm of The Doctors beating hearts and in the morning, when he was gone, it was all okay. Because there was a cup of coffee on the balcony she hadn’t stood on in months with a small note that read –

_**‘Until the next time, Clara Oswald, x’** _

They hadn’t said it. They didn’t need to, but it was clear. Ozzie _really_ loved the Scottie, and just maybe he loved her too.


End file.
